


What's The Meta Now?

by AreVeeBee



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Carolina is a Red, Gen, Professional Overwatch, at least that's their dream, grif and kaikaina are both lúcio mains and i cry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 09:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10738560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AreVeeBee/pseuds/AreVeeBee
Summary: Turns out, the only Meta here is metagaming.





	What's The Meta Now?

**Author's Note:**

> you know when you have that au in your head that eats at you for days until you try and write it? and then it turns our you haven't written creatively since the days of LiveJournal? 
> 
> well, here's the product of terribly conducted mad science.

In two lines of three, sat six computers. They were mashed together in a room that barely qualified as a storage closet. Not to mention, while the computers had little room, the group of gamers known as the Red Army Corps. were snug as a bug. Simmons, had Grif to his left. In this situation, a small blessing due to his friend's left-handedness. He will be bumping into no arms this afternoon.

"This sucks." Grif said suddenly. He had just finished setting up his system and settled heavily into his chair. "Why do we even bother practicing here?"

"I'd almost be fine with it if it had any leg room." Simmons said, not bothering to answer the question because, honestly? Why? Even a bathroom would be better than this. Bathrooms suck.

"It's not like we even need practice, we all literally played this morning."

"Um. We played?" Simmons asked incredulously. "I'm not sure if activating your healing aura and taking a nap whilst on the point counts as 'playing'."

Grif sighed. "Tell that to my medals, Simmons." He paused for a moment, then added, "And 'whilst?' Really, man?--"

"Everyone, pay attention!" Sarge barked into his headset. Simmons quieted himself and Grif with a harsh shush, which was met with a _yeah yeah_  from the other. "In about 1 hour, the six of us will be going up against our greatest enemies!"

"Lines at the Gas Station?" Grif suggested.

Simmons huffed. "Shut up, dumbass, if anything's our 'greatest enemy' at a Gas Station it's clearly the restroom." At this point, Sarge was grumbling, which wasn't enough to stop Grif.

"Alright. How about waiting for the shitty Gas Station bathroom. I--" Grif squeaked and shut up when Carolina, to his left, thumped the back of his head.

"Thank you." Sarge cleared his throat. "In 59 minutes the six of us will be going up against our greatest enemies! Those dirty, rotten Blues!"

"Boo!" Donut cheered. "Totally rotten!"

"And this ain't just our usual tussle." He huffs a proud breath. "The talent hounds are in the audience tonight! Sniffin' out promise. Promise and skill, to build the team of the future! Lady, gentlemen, and Grif! Now is the time to show them that their future is Red!"

"<It's amazing that you think we have a chance.>" Lopez intoned.

"You're right, Lopez," Donut said while patting him on the back, "we _are_ the best players we know!"

Simmons shared a look with Grif, who laughed and stretched his wrists. "I don't know about you, Simmons, but I've got a pretty good feeling about this."

"You're just happy because we're starting on Ilios."

"Fuck yeah! Well, sweet Well. I'm gonna get play of the game," he held up one finger, "with one button."

"We'll see." Carolina said, the grin clear in her voice. Grif wasn't about feed Carolina's rampant competitiveness, but he'd be lying if he didn't feel somewhat compelled to put effort into it.

Simmons tapped Grif's shoulder and said away from his mic, "Bet you can't do it."

"How much are we talkin' here?"

"$20 dollars and... I'll go support for a map."

Grif totally didn't giggle (he did). "You're on."

They put their headphones back on to catch the tail end of Donut's own version of an inspirational speech which he ended with, "We got this, guys! It's just like Lopez said! We're the absolute best at Overwatch!" 

\--

Meanwhile, in another storage closet.

"Church, please." Tucker nearly cried. "you don't have to do this. You can have self-respect. Just switch."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Church said with all the emotion of someone who wasn't sorry, "I thought I was the team captain, Tucker. And peons don't tell the captain what to do!"

"Yeah, Tucker!" Caboose jumped in to defend Church. "If Church wants to play Widowmaker and get zero eliminations then he can!!"

"........ Thanks, buddy."

"We don't have that much time to warm-up here, guys, we should be using the characters we're going to, you know, actually play." Wash chimed in. "Especially considering the esport scouts I've told you will be here.. a hundred times."

Tucker didn't groan, but it was a near thing. "Why are they even coming? We have a shitty team that's won a few shitty local tournaments. So what? Even if they do end up wanting to scout us... it won't be all of us."

"So what? Maybe you'll get lucky." Tex said.

"But that's not the point!"

"Tucker," Wash started, "trust me when I say I think we have a chance."

Tucker huffed sarcastically. "You're just saying that 'cause you've been pro before."

"That's true, I was. Does that not make me qualified to presume our team makes the cut?"

"I guess?" Tucker said.

"Puhlease. Maybe you're just being a stupid, know-it-all!" Sister accused. "It's not not like we're the only team playing, y'know! In gaming I may not play for _both teams_ , but I know my brother and I know he always tries his best."

"Yeah!" Tucker said. "Wait, what?"

"Well, I know my team--"

" _My_ team." Church interrupted.

"I know this team," continued Wash. "I know how much you all care about this opportunity. I mean, really, guys, getting paid to play video games. It's a dream come true for everyone here."

"My dream come true is finding a dog that knows how to play video games with me." Caboose said to nobody, really.

"We're going to go out there and win best of three. We're the Blue Badasses, it's in the title. Nobody can get in our way."

\--

The hour was at hand. Twelve people, six on each side, walked out onto the stage. The lights were almost blinding and the meager audience was weakly cheering. It was easy to spot the agents in the audience, which did nothing to soothe Simmons' nerves. "Oh god, they're all looking at me."

Grif laughed mirthlessly. "Oh, please, they're literally just here for Wash and Carolina. You know that, right?"

"What?!" Simmons squeaked. "Of-of course I know that," It could be a bummer sometimes remembering that the level Washington and Carolina played on was leagues beyond his own. "But, they _could_ be looking at me."

"It could be worse," Grif added as they took their seats at the much nicer not-practice computers. "They could only notice you the moment you make a mistake."

Simmons gasped, was affronted, and then glared hatefully at Grif. "Yeah, well, you're not getting play of the game."

"No need to state the obvious, Simmons." Sarge said. "Focus on the moment at hand! Our victory, kicking their keisters! And our second victory, taking their job opportunity right from under their useless feet!

"Yes, sir!"

"Kissass."

Simmons vaguely heard the MC introducing them, but he was too deep in thought. Both teams got to pick two maps each. Starting with Ilios, then Eichenwalde, Dorado, Anubis, and if it came to it, the tournament picked Nepal. Hopefully it wouldn't come to a fifth map. Simmons left his wrist brace at home like a dumbass. Still, he was mostly fond of all the maps picked - and Sarge always had interesting plans for attacking escort maps like Dorado and Eichenwalde. It was almost weird, despite the nerves that come with people expecting things from him... Simmons was ready for these matches. 

In fact, Simmons was ready to fucking go Pro.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading. next part we'll find out who everyone mains and, also, see who wins!
> 
> this could possibly end up as a series.


End file.
